


The Best Idea

by tarie



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-05
Updated: 2013-01-05
Packaged: 2017-11-23 18:37:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/625343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tarie/pseuds/tarie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hermione's feeling a bit under the weather and Harry sends Ron off to help her as best he can.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Best Idea

Ron isn't so sure this is the best idea. Hermione is the one who comes up with those kinds of things, not him and Harry. This is Harry's idea though, and if Ron was honest with himself he'd admit that he rather likes the idea, and so he isn't sure it's the best. But he can't say no to Harry, so he rounds the ugly umbrella stand and starts up the dark staircase, taking care to ignore the beady eyes of the mounted house elf heads as he makes his way up the stairs.

When he reaches the first landing, Ron cuts through the Drawing Room, pausing in front of one of the glass-fronted cabinets next to the mantelpiece. The glass is still dirty, but not so dirty that he can't see what is inside the cabinet - a few seals, a dusty box, and a lone rusty dagger. He shudders, not liking being that close to items associated with Dark Magic, and studies himself in the faint reflection of the glass. There is a bit of dirt on his nose and chocolate at the corner of his mouth, so he wets his thumb and starts to wipe his face. She would notice if he has something on his face, after all. She would notice... He stops mid-wipe and squints, leaning in to better see himself. All he had managed to do was smudge the dirt on his nose a bit more, feathering it farther out on his skin, and he hadn't even touched the chocolate. He stares at his grin and watches it broaden as he imagines her reaction to his grubby face. Maybe Harry's idea isn't so bad after all.

Ron exits the Drawing Room and stands outside the door to room Hermione had once shared with Ginny. His eyes focus on the doorknob, shaped like a serpent's head like all the others, but he doesn't really see it. Only the width of that door is separating him from Hermione and suddenly Ron is anxious. She isn't feeling well; she'd excused herself from kitchen in the middle of taking tea and making plans to go to Godric's Hollow. The last thing Ron wants to do is upset her, which would in turn cause a row, and he doesn't want to fight with her. He doesn't want to fight with her because everything has been going so _well_ between them, ever since he and Lavender had things off. Besides, Harry needs them, and they can't be there for him if they're too caught up in rows. 

It was Harry's idea for Ron to check up on her. When she excused herself, looking peaked and miserable, they asked what was wrong, what they could do to help, what potion she needed them to brew, but she waved them off and disappeared up the stairs. Ron didn't know what to make of it, so he poured another cuppa for Harry and himself, tore into a chocolate frog and tossed the Morgana card - he has about twenty of them now - into the rubbish bin. Harry dug into some of the treacle tart Mrs Weasley had sent along, and then they went right back to discussing the best way to go about slipping into Godric's Hollow unnoticed. Ron dribbled tea onto Harry's map and was charming it off when Harry suggested they - Ron, specifically - ought to see how Hermione was doing. When Ron tried to tell him they ought to leave her be, Harry just gave him a look and said quietly, "Go on, Ron," so Ron did. 

This is Harry's idea, what Ron is about to do, and Ron knows it's the right thing to do - she'd check in on them - so he puts his hand on that ridiculous doorknob and turns it. When he enters the room, he finds Hermione curled up in a ball in the middle of one of the dingy twin beds. Her eyes are closed and her arms are crossed about her chest, and Ron watches her for a long moment, unsure of what to say or do.

Like she usually does, Hermione clears up Ron's uncertainty for him. "In or out, Ron," she says, her voice muffled against the duvet. "It's rude to hover."

"In," he says after a moment, kicking the door closed behind him before moving to stand at the foot of the bed, staring down at her. Her colour is more peaked than it was in the kitchen earlier. "You don't look so good." Realising how that might sound, he groans. "I mean, you--"

"I know what you meant," she snaps, lifting her head enough to give him a good glare. "I'm no Lavender Brown or Fl-- _a veela_ , so I'm sorry if I don't look glorious while under the weather."

"That wasn't what I meant!" Ron groans and crosses to her side - _no rows_ , he reminds himself - before sinking down to his knees to be on her level. "Really, Hermione." She huffs and rolls so her back faces him, and Ron curses softly under his breath. 

"Language," she says less forcefully, and he knows her eyes have narrowed, her brows have knitted together, and one corner of her mouth has turned down in disapproval. He climbs up on the bed behind her and leans over, looking at her upside down; her face is exactly as he imagined it would be and he grins despite himself. She rolls her eyes and draws her knees up to her chest, eyes falling shut. An uneasy quiet settles in the room, and the only sounds are those of their breathing.

"What are you doing?" she asks finally, her strained voice breaking the silence.

"I just thought I'd see if there was anything I can do to help," he says, his fingers itching to reach out and push back the damp tendrils of curls from her forehead. 

"There isn't any--"

"And you always look glorious," he adds, then coughs and grabs a bit of the duvet, twisting it in his hands. The springs in the mattress squeak and groan in protest as Hermione props herself up on her elbows. An elbow brushes against his hand as she settles, and heat rises in his cheeks. He coughs again, louder.

"Oh." Hermione's voice catches and Ron forces himself to look up, meeting her gaze. 

"Yeah," he says, and the heat spreads to the tip of his ears. "So, is there anything I can do to help? With...?" He waves his hands vaguely at her, not exactly sure where she doesn't feel well.

"No, there isn't. I'll be fine in a bit," Hermione says awkwardly, and Ron has the distinct feeling that she's staring through a spot on his shoulder.

"Well, that's good, then," Ron says, confused. He rubs at the back of his neck, awkward and anxious all over again. "How d'you know you'll be fine in a bit, though?"

"Because I'm a girl," she says pointedly.

"Because you're a girl," he repeats, realisation slowly dawning on him. " _Oh_." 

"I'd like to be alone now, if you don't mind." Hermione makes a soft sound and covers her face, and Ron can't let her be alone just then.

"I do mind, actually." He reaches his hand out slowly, fingers ghosting over her hands, and resolve sets in. Ron had held her at Dumbledore's funeral, and he would hold her again if that would take her mind off the aches and pains of her impending _thing_ \- _THE M WORD_ , a voice inside his head bellows - for even a little while. Swallowing hard, he lays a hand over hers, fingers curling around her tiny wrist. "'M not going anywhere," he says quietly, pulling a hand away from her face. "Not now, not ever, so y'might as well get used to it."

For a moment Ron thinks she is going to tell him to leave again, but she doesn't. She takes her other hand away from her face and gives him that 'oh, _Ron_ ' look he'd got a thousand times before, only this time it's a tiny bit different, like he just might have done something a little bit right instead of a little bit wrong. He likes this look, and he lets out a sigh of relief, then turns her hand over in his, threading their fingers together.

"Did you try one of those hot water bottles?" he asks. Growing up with a little sister and a mum, Ron had picked up at least one or two handy tidbits about girls. Times when Ginny and his mum would loudly discuss monthlies and girl things at the breakfast table had been rather horrifying for Ron, but at least some good was coming out of the torture.

"It didn't help." 

Ron squeezes her fingers and sucks in a breath when there is a slight pressure in return. "Roll over."

Hermione laughs and Ron knows she's nervous, which makes him feel good. Brilliant, even. _She's nervous because of_ me _._

"C'mon," he wheedles, widening his eyes and pulling a pout.

"All right." She looks at him suspiciously and quirks a brow, but she does roll over onto her stomach.

"I'm gonna--" He starts to speak, but he can't finish telling her what he's going to do because he can't _believe_ he's going to actually do it, and if he tells her she could say no, so he just does it. 

Ron touches her. 

He places his hands palm-flat on either side of her spine down and runs them down her back, stopping at her waist. Fingers hook under shirt hem and lift up, and then his skin is on her skin and it's even better than he imagined it could be. Hermione's skin is warm and smooth and silky, and if perfection was something tactile, something tangible, this would be it. "All right then?" He wills her to say yes, that it is, that she doesn't mind, because it would be awful to _stop_ touching her. He wills her and wishes and hopes, and it works because she nods her head, thick bushy hair bouncing against her shoulders. 

"Go on." 

Not needing to be told twice, Ron goes on, sliding his hands further under her shirt, lightly rubbing her sore muscles. His fingers work and dig into her skin, working out the kinks. Hermione lets out a soft moanwhimpersigh and Ron inhales so sharply that the air whistles through the gaps in his teeth. He shouldn't think about those sounds or wonder about what other sounds she might make in other situations, because that could get him into more than a spot of trouble. She's so close and he could really muck things up in less than a heartbeat, so he tries his damnedest _not_ to think about the sounds.

The sounds keep happening, though, so Ron bites his lip hard and recites Chudley Canon statistics in his head while his hands work higher and higher.

_Galvin Gudgeon, 1996 to 1997 season, Seeker. Fourteen Snitches caught, Eighteen Snitches lost. Fastest catch, one minute and seven seconds. Penalties, eighty-one. Joey Jenkins, 1996 to 1997 season, Beater. Bludgers hit--_

"Ron?"

Hermione's voice interrupts his recitation and he freezes.

"Yeah?"

"My back feels much better. Thank you."

"You're welcome," Ron says, swallowing against the lump in his throat. Reluctantly he glides his hands down her back; he won't get to touch her like that again, and that's a bugger to think about.

He smoothes the hem of her shirt down is scooting toward the edge of the bed, figuring he'll go back down to the kitchen with Harry, when she reaches a hand behind herself to stop him. Curious, Ron pauses, watching as she rolls onto her back. 

"This still hurts a bit," she says quickly, and Ron watches colour bloom in her cheeks for a minute before following her hands as they pull up her shirt, baring her abdomen.

Ron thinks this checking in on Hermione thing is the best idea Harry ever had.

"Really?" he asks, the corners of his mouth twitching.

"Really," Hermione says sharply, giving him an annoyed look. Ron holds his own, waiting, and Hermione doesn't disappoint. She huffs and starts pulling her shirt down, and he uses her preoccupation to his advantage, crawling up to straddle her legs. Hermione pushes at his chest, protesting, her cheeks still flushed, and Ron can't get enough of it, of her. He can't get enough of her, and her skin is so perfect, _she_ is so perfect, that he cannot stomach just sitting there. He cannot stomach just sitting there so he does something about it; he leans in as Hermione fists her hands in his shirt and tugs - not pushing away, but _tugging_ \- him closer until they're finally kissing. _Fucking fantastic_. 

Lavender was a needy kisser and Ron often felt like he'd had a go-round with a Dementor after a snogging session with her. Hermione, though. Hermione is different. Different and not like how he expected, but completely her and bloody well brilliant. Her kiss is forceful and firm, and Ron doesn't mind at all when her tongue slips in his mouth. He especially doesn't mind when her tongue slips in her mouth and he gives it a suck and she makes that sound again. And for the second time that night, Ron knows he might be in trouble. _God- Merlin- **Whoever** , don't let me fuck this up, yeah?_ But then she returns the favour, drawing his tongue into her mouth and mirroring his actions, and Ron can't help it; he's hard against her thigh. Embarrassed, he jerks his hips back and buries his face in her hair. "Sorry," he mumbles. 

"I'm not," she says softly, her breath tickling his ear. A shiver runs down his spine as he processes that, and he doesn't question it when she mouths kisses down along his jawline, nor does he question it when her hands fumble with the button and zip on his fly. He doesn't know how she can be so calm about this; his hands are absolutely trembling as they work at the closures on her trousers. She doesn't bother to tug off his jumper, so he only undoes a few of the buttons on her blouse. Grinning down at Hermione as she grins up at him, Ron wiggles his trousers and pants down his hips while Hermione does the same beneath him. He almost has them down about his knees his balance gives out; he falls atop her with an "oof" and their noses bump together. Hermione grunts and then giggles, and the sound is like music to his ears, better than any crap Celestina Warbeck record by far. Ron laughs as well, although he winces when she brings a hand up to touch his nose. 

"Sorry," Hermione whispers, running her finger lightly over the spot where his nose had bumped in hers. "You've got dirt on your nose. Did you know?"

Ron laughs again and nods, then points at one corner of his mouth. "This's chocolate," he says almost proudly.

"Is it, then?" Hermione asks, trailing her finger over the smooth plane of his cheek to where he pointed.

"Yep."

"Honestly," she says, and feigns an eye-roll. "You're such a mess." Ron nods, then moans as her tongue, small and pink and wet, darts out of her mouth to lick the chocolate from his skin. He can feel want, hot and fierce and demanding, building deep inside, and he is done with the teasing and the playing. It's time to make his move, so he does. Hermione pulls back, licking her lips and coating them with the taste of chocolate and his skin, and he attacks, covering her frame with his own completely, twining a hand in her hair as his lips assault the column of her throat. Her skin tastes even more perfect than it feels, and he is intoxicated. Ron is dizzy and so hard and hot against her stomach, and he can't help but to comply when she says "now" in a low, husky sort of voice that is for his ears and his ears alone. Now it is, so now he runs a finger along her folds, groaning at how wet she is, at how wet she is for him. Her hips arch up and he places a hand on his cock, guiding himself down to her. One, two, three and then it's _tight_ and _beckoning_ and then he's in and Ron doesn't know where he stops and Hermione begins and he doesn't care to ever find out because being joined together is what this moment is about, what everything he has ever wanted is about, and when her legs wrap about his waist and her heels dig into his arse, he thinks _everything, **yes**_ and then he moves.

Ron moves and Hermione moves and they move together, and he knows he won't last long because of the sounds and the sensations, so he makes the most of it. Lips meet lips and Ron tells Hermione secrets of a hundred lifetimes, of a hundred 'I should tell you's as they rise and fall together as one, and it isn't long before he is falling so far, so fast over the edge. Hermione catches him though, holding him against her breast, and Ron is suddenly exhausted.

Stifling a yawn, Ron slides a hand down over her chest to settle on her abdomen. "Any better?" 

"Loads better, actually," Hermione says quietly. Ron can't help but smile at that, and he reckons it's a good thing Hermione can't see his face, because he knows full well he must look like a smug bastard. "Thank you for coming to help me."

"You're welcome," Ron replies, his smile widening as the most wonderful realisation hits him. "Think you'll be needing help again next month?"

Hermione pauses. "Yes," she says slowly, and Ron can feel her chest heave a little under his, like she's trying to hold in a giggle. "I believe I will. And the month after that."

"And the month after that?"

"Definitely. And the one after that as well."

Ron laughs and wraps his arms around Hermione, pulling her closer. "What about next week, though? What if I want to help you more than once or twice a month?"

"I'll take all the help I can get," Hermione says softly, her lips moving against his as she speaks. 

"Brilliant," Ron whispers back, then moves in for a proper kiss.

He'd have to tell Harry later on that his idea was the best ever. For now, though, Ron is perfectly content to stay right where he is and help Hermione a little bit more.


End file.
